It did not take long for Phil and Solomon to fill the air with conversation once the two Hawkins left for the airport. Partially born from a genuine desire from both men to catch up and Phil’s own internal realization that there was little he could do to further his personal goals until the tournament began, it soon saw them in an animated argument over how exactly it would be best to build the frog deck Phil envisioned.

  And it was at that point, when both men were pacing to and fro inside the shop with such heavy deliberations that a thick cloud could almost be seen forming over their heads, that the door to Kame Game swung open. The action did not catch their attention at first, nor did the ‘ding’ of the little bell rigged up to the top of the door.

  However, their brainstorming-induced obliviousness only lasted a few seconds before Phil saw in his peripheral vision a girl. A small girl with her hair tied up into pigtails. She looked bedraggled, her chest desperately heaving to catch what little breath it could, as if she’d been in desperate flight from a horrifying pursuer for many miles. Her half-moon glasses were askew, and her left arm was clutched gingerly against her chest as if she were utterly terrified at even the very idea of that limb being bumped or shaken.

  Phil’s nonchalant greeting died in his mouth the moment Rebecca’s appearance made itself fully clear to his eyes.

  “Phil, her arm’s broken!” Lumina exclaimed, having been close enough to the door to take in the situation faster than Phil or Solomon could.

  “Holy shit…” He reflexively cursed as his eyes traced the shape of Rebecca’s arm, which was bent at an ordinarily impossible angle. He ran toward Rebecca to usher her further into the store. Solomon moved as if in silent agreement to flip the ‘open’ sign over to turn it into a ‘closed’ sign and shut the blinds to the large display windows. No one could see in, no one could see out.

  As soon as the store was closed up, Phil kneeled to match Rebecca’s height and placed what he hoped was a comforting hand on the shoulder of her unbroken arm. As he did, his eyes spotted multiple nail marks on her broken arm that slowly wept tears of crimson blood.

  “What happened? Where’s Arthur?”

  Rebecca’s bottom lip trembled, and then between a flood of tears she described the events at the airport – Arthur coming back from the restroom with a terrifying new personality, how he’d questioned her, her escape from the airport, and her subsequent sprint through the city to find safety in the only place she could think of, the game store owned by her granduncle.

  Phil ran a hand through his hair. His mouth opened, and then shut without speaking a word. He stood and turned to Solomon. The two shared a grave look.

  “It seems your enemies are more determined than we both thought.” Solomon muttered after Phil helped Rebecca into a chair and stepped away to the counter.

  Phil let out a long yet whispered string of venomous swears as an answer. Then he ran his hand through his hair again.

  “This is on me. I assumed they’d focus on regrouping until Battle City started. Shit. I shoulda’ gone with them to the airport. This is a problem. When the kids get back from school, we need to tell them they shouldn't be going anywhere without either Yugi, me, you, or Tilla in tow. Not even to school or work. Hell, you need to call the school now, tell them to get Yugi on the line, and tell him. Fuck. Do you think…”

  Solomon shook his head helplessly, easily guessing the question that Phil was too scared to fully voice.

  “I am afraid you would know more about that than I. And Phil, you can’t keep spinning through regrets like that. Should haves and would haves. Neither of us imagined something like this could happen. We cannot change the past, but we can affect the present and the future with what we do here and now.”

  Phil’s hands gripped the edge of the counter, flexing and unflexing as his thoughts spun at a million miles per hour.

  “Arthur definitely resisted. No other reason makes sense for why his grip would weaken… unless the piece of shit possessing him wanted Rebecca to lead them to me… but then why ask her those questions in the first place? If they wanted a trail to follow, they wouldn't need to waste time on that… they’d be better off interrogating her and then either going for possession or death. Cleaner that way. Now my guard’s raised and they’ll know that.”

  He shook his head and walked swiftly over to the shuttered blinds. A peek through them showed no one other than a few regular pedestrians making their way across the sidewalk on the other side of the street. No one appeared to be watching the store. There weren’t any police officers either. Solomon joined Phil at his spot near the window.

  “If Arthur resisted?” Solomon’s question hung in the air like a guillotine.

  Phil helplessly shrugged. “It ain’t set in stone. None of this magic crap is. But my best guess is that if he did resist, there might be a chance to save him. That’s how it was… last time something like this happened. The creature didn’t go for the kill then. It wanted to drag it out. I think.”

  He closed his eyes and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the cool surface of the glass window. A few dull ‘thunks’ echoed out as he lightly hit his head against the window. Then his eyes flashed open.

  Arthur Hawkins was not going to be another Dimitri. He wouldn’t let it. Not to mention how much Phil felt he owed the guy, and that was even before considering Jean’s share of the debt. He knew his brother would have agreed.

  “I’m decent with first aid, but an arm like that… I don’t have confidence in setting it properly. Not to mention how fucking painful it would be. The kid needs actual medical help. Not some amateur like me.”

  A worried look stole over Solomon’s face. “The hospital? Though… you said they have eyes on the police, or even complete control over a man of influence in the department.”

  “They could be watching the hospital. That’s what I would do in their shoes. Wait for my enemies to get help and then gank the shit out of them.” Phil muttered. Out of habit his hand crept up to his chin to stroke at a beard that was no longer there. “I don’t think we have a choice. Rebecca needs help before her arm heals wrong. That and some serious painkillers. More than what you have in the cabinet. We’ll take her to the hospital. I’ll wear a surgical mask and keep coughing like I’m sick. That should hopefully let me follow behind without attracting attention. You focus on getting Rebecca’s arm set and finding some proper painkillers. Once that’s done, we leave. If the cops show, I’ll try to find somewhere nearby to hide. I don’t want to hurt regular cops just trying to do their job. If one of the Sons show…”

  Phil’s voice darkened around the end as he clutched the new deck in his hand. His smile turned vicious.

  “Well, I’d quite like that to happen, if you catch my drift.”

  “I would too.” Rebecca’s voice, still cracked and raw from pain, spoke up in agreement from where she stood, having quietly walked up to them while they had been deep in conversation. Though her face was still stained with tears and her appearance was ragged and pitiful, strength still flickered in her shaking eyes. It was a strength weighed down by fear, grief, and worry, but strength it remained. This strength, this fire, it was something Phil was quite used to seeing by now in the eyes of duelists who would never back down, no matter how much the odds were against them.

  Phil began to speak, but his voice caught in his throat before a single word could get out. His face twisted, and then took on a complicated look. He kneeled down once more to bring his face level to Rebecca's. He looked deep into her eyes.

  And then Phil let out a sigh.

  Fuck.

  “We can’t stop you, huh?”

  Rebecca glared back at him defiantly, as if daring Phil to reject her conviction or launch into an ill-timed joke. Not one speck of her former wild and arrogant attitude remained in her face. A thin trail of blood streamed down her chin as she bit her lip. However, once it became clear that he would not do any such thing, her eyes widened slightly in a mixture of surprise and gratitude.

  "Look." Phil took on a calm tone, keeping his eyes locked with hers. "We're taking you to the hospital, no matter if I have to tie you up. I don't like the look of that arm. If any of those bastards show up there, let me handle them. Once we get back here, then we'll figure something out, okay? We'll make a deck together since your old one is still at the airport. After that… I’m not sure. I know for sure they’ll be showing themselves in a tournament two months from now, but that doesn’t mean we can’t keep an eye out for your grandpa. You got me?”

  Rebecca gave a short nod. “Yeah… those bastards…” She replied. Her voice faltered and dissolved into sniffles, causing Solomon to lean over with a handkerchief produced from his back pocket.

  "Great. First the poor kid gets traumatized by her possessed grandpa, and now you're teaching her new words." Lumina grumbled, though even her snark was halfhearted, and she was looking at Rebecca with a soft gaze.

  "Ain't shit I can do," Phil whispered back softly enough so that Solomon and Rebecca couldn't hear his words. "Only way she doesn't stay involved with this is if we chain her up in a windowless prison cell for the next two months. At least this way she'll stick close so I can keep an eye on her. I don’t need her running out at night playing vigilante alone. That’s how she gets herself killed. Or worse.”

  Lumina helplessly shrugged. “I’m with you on that. No good answer anywhere you look. But you can’t deny the poor kid’s gonna need the best therapist in the world after all this business is done.”

  Phil pinched the bridge of his nose to help dissipate the building pressure in his head. The action hardly helped one bit. With this… it was getting too chaotic. Now, not only did he have to ice all the Sons before they turned the city into a graveyard, but now he had to make sure poor Rebecca didn't get herself killed while also rescuing Arthur before the spirit possessing him decided to just ice the old man and be done with it. The weight building on his shoulders felt like an entire skyscraper was sitting on top of him, pressing down on him with such force that he could barely even move or breathe.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Then the pressure faded to the background as Lumina wrapped a companionable arm around his shoulders.

  “Hey now, one problem at a time. You know that. You’ve got your frogs ready to go, so let’s get the kid a doctor. Step-by-step. Trying to take the big picture all in one go is how a mortal like you goes insane. Leave that junk to the psychic-types that can see the future.” She reminded him with a gentle smile.

  Phil let out a hoarse laugh and a shake of his head, causing Solomon and Rebecca to shoot him strange looks. He paid them no mind. What would he do without Lumina? A sobering answer came quickly to his mind. Yeah. He’d probably be dead in a dumpster back in New York City. He turned his attention to Solomon, flashing an award-winning smile featuring several missing teeth toward the old man and sending a reassuring wink over to the disheveled small child.

  “You got a chariot for Ms. Princess over here? We have a magic castle with pretty ponies and some hopefully really fast working doctors to find.”

  The look in Solomon's eyes as he placed the phone in his hands back onto its hook told Phil the old man was not fooled by Phil’s last-minute attempt at a confident fa?ade. He could only hope Rebecca was not the same.

  -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

  Phil had never enjoyed being inside hospitals. It was the smell, he supposed. Sterile, stinking of antiseptic and a vague sense of misery. The miasma formed by that combination always seemed to worm its way into every little crack and crevice until it started to infect a guy’s mind. To turn his thoughts not dark, but empty.

  Although, despite the smell being sterile, there was little at this particular hospital that was actually sterile. The ceiling tiles were stained yellow from cigarette smoke, the tiled flooring had such an impressive layer of grime that Phil was convinced he could sink one of his fingernails deep enough into it that it would reach his skin, and even the plastic plants in the corners of the waiting room looked dead somehow.

  He’d spent a stint in a hospital back on Earth. About a month, actually. Far too long for his taste. That was the thing about being in a coma for any period of time longer than a few days, as he had after being shot and having his spirit sent to the GX timeline for a whirl. No matter how diligent the doctors and nurses are, your muscles start to have problems. Once you wake up, you have to re-learn how to walk. Then there’s food. Phil had been fed through a tube in his coma. Disgusting, yet necessary. Unfortunately, that also taught him the fun trivia fact that there are several important muscles located somewhere around the throat area that need to be used regularly, or they stop working correctly.

  Yup.

  That little factoid had led Phil to be forcibly kept in the hospital for weeks after waking up until the doctors were satisfied that he could swallow food without choking and dying, and that he could walk without assistance.

  All of this knowledge rattled around his brain as he watched a serious-looking Solomon lean against the front desk to check Rebecca in. Phil was ten feet away in the waiting room, a surgical mask covering his face and a nonchalance in his eyes that he hoped no one would realize was fake.

  It hardly took long for Phil to realize that concern was pointless. Perhaps if someone actually looked at him, they could tell, but time to do that seemed to be in short supply. Doctors rushed to and fro with such speed that they were practically jogging. New patients staggered into the waiting room, only to be bundled out to the proper wing of the hospital before they could so much as sit down.

  Solomon continued to speak calmly yet sternly to the same chain-smoking nurse Phil had encountered the night before. He gestured a few times toward Rebecca, who had to stand on the tip of her toes just so she could see over the desk. Eventually, money changed hands and the pair were led away by a doctor with heavy bags under his eyes. Phil's body tensed up like a coiled spring. He mentally counted out the seconds, his eyes flicking to and fro, from one end of the waiting room to the other. In his pocket, he could feel the reassuring weight of his cards.

  Finally the look in his eyes sharpened. The chain-smoking nurse started yelling at the next person in line, while a guy to the right of Phil started projectile vomiting into a nearby potted plant.

  A chance.

  To the melodic screeching of the nurse, Phil let himself be caught up in the wave of people desperately trying to distance themselves from the projectile vomiter. Then, once the crowd had whisked him halfway across the room, he squirmed free and casually walked past the desk without checking in.

  For several agonizing seconds Phil could almost hear the phantom cries of ‘security, security!’ as he wound his way down the hallway in hot pursuit of Solomon’s steadily retreating back. Yet there were no loud noises at all other than the sounds of a developing brawl behind him between the nurse and her target. He let out a sigh of relief – only to choke it back down as a police officer in a blue uniform walked around the corner. The man’s eyes were fixed on the cup of boiling-hot coffee in his hands, clearly waiting for the precise moment that would allow him to drink the bitter liquid without finding the inside of his mouth covered in third-degree burns.

  Phil didn’t slow. To do so would be to show suspicion. He brushed past the officer, twisting his shoulders enough so that he wouldn’t bump against the man. Next to Phil, Lumina sagged slightly, holding a hand to her heart out of pure nerves.

  The doctor, Rebecca, and Solomon turned another corner. Phil followed behind them, never straying closer than twenty feet to them.

  “Cameras.” Lumina’s voice came close to his ear. She nudged him and pointed. Phil’s eyes followed her finger. He smiled under the mask. A camera for certain, but it didn’t look like a fisheye lens. That meant more blind spots to exploit if need be. Its casing was stained in the same yellow color as the ceiling tiles. He wouldn’t be surprised if that meant the lens had smoke damage as well. Using even non-working security cameras as a deterrent was an old trick that worked more than one might think. Considering it was the late 90s… the cameras in the building likely all connected back to a central room to a shitty CRT monitor watched over by a guy who wasn’t paid enough to care about one more sick-looking man in a surgical mask wandering the halls.

  Sneakers squeaking against the grimy tile floor ahead heralded his destination, which a peak around the corner was able to confirm as an examination room. The doctor went in first, his shoulders still sagging under the invisible weight of extreme exhaustion. Next came Rebecca and Solomon. Only when the door ‘snicked’ shut behind them did Phil amble up to the outside. Placing an ear against the wooden surface was able to yield barely decipherable voices, enough so that Phil had to screw his eyes shut in concentration to fully make out what the people inside were saying.

  No matter how the doctor looked, he couldn’t drop his guard. The man could be an ordinary working fellow.

  Or he could be possessed.

  Phil placed his palm flat against the door. Wood for sure, but it didn’t feel all too solid. He couldn’t be certain if it was hollow or solid until he opened it… which would be a very bad idea at this point, no matter if the doctor was normal or not.

  “Phil! Look natural!” Lumina’s shout rang down the hall, completely unheard of to all but Phil himself. While he had been busy eavesdropping, Lumina had posted herself by the corner to keep watch.

  He spun around. Now he could hear it, the tapping of shoes against tile. Hiding would have been better, but all the other doors nearby were locked. The sound of shoes came closer. Lumina's tone grew in urgency. Look natural. He could do that. Phil dug around in his pockets. He'd hoped to avoid this, but there was little he could do, as an unaccompanied patient or visitor past this point would look instantly suspicious.

  Finally, his fingers hit the rectangular carton in the very deepest part of his pocket. It was little enough to fit comfortably within his palm. He pulled it out, bringing a small matchbook with it. In his head he ran over the mantra:

  Look dead inside. Well, in truth, he'd felt pretty dead inside for a few days now.

  Look exhausted. Well, in truth, he'd hardly slept since Jean's death.

  Look frayed at the edges. Well, in truth, he’d been wondering lately if he was so frayed that he’d start to come apart by the seams.

  Look like you belong. Well, in truth, some days he wondered where he really belonged anymore. Was it back on his Earth? Here? In GX? Phil didn’t know.

  Phil opened the rectangular carton, nudged out a single cigarette, and lit it. And as the man Lumina had warned him about turned the corner, he adjusted the mask over his face so that it would still cover most of his features, while also allowing him to hang the cig loose from his lips in the manner of a very defeated, very tired doctor.

  The disguise was paper-thin, a scrap of an idea born after seeing Jean throw out his last carton of smokes. Phil had saved it, just in case. One might never know when a cigarette would come in handy. But it was still paper-thin. He knew it, Lumina knew it.

  The smoke felt coarse against his throat. It took everything Phil had not to cough, and even so, he moved as quickly and naturally as he could to pull the cigarette away from his mouth.

  It was just in time. The man turning the corner looked as dead inside as the doctor escorting Solomon and Rebecca had been. He was bald, wearing a lab coat that was covered in ink stains and smoke residue.

  But he did not look alarmed by Phil’s presence. Every step the man took felt like it was causing Phil’s body to shudder. Every move the man made caused adrenaline to rush through his body, like he was a frightened hare staying stock still in front of a dangerous predator and was praying to whatever deity animals believed in that the predator would simply not notice him if he stood perfectly still.

  “Hm.” The man grunted his greetings as he passed by Phil, not slowing for even a half-step. Phil grunted back and blew a steady cloud of smoke away from the man. The man in the lab coat turned the corner. As soon as he did, Phil made to throw the cigarette into the nearest ashtray, while Lumina let out a cheer so loud that he had to stop himself from looking around to check if anyone had heard.

  However, at the click of a door opening, his hand stopped mid-throw, curving in the air to perform a more natural arc that saw it back in place to hang loosely from his lips.

  “Hm.” Phil grunted a dispassionate greeting toward the doctor leaving Rebecca’s examination room.

  “Hm.” The doctor grunted back. So great was his focus on the clipboard in his hand that he did not spare Phil a single look as he speedwalked by. As soon as the doctor turned the corner past Lumina, Phil took the chance to dip his head into the exam room.

  The two occupants inside froze in mid-conversation until Solomon belatedly recognized Phil under the surgical mask.

  “So?” Phil rasped out around the cloud of smoke that felt like it was sticking to his lungs with the force of superglue.

  "A clean break," Solomon explained in brief words. "Doctor Moretti thinks he can reset it now. Then he can put a quick cast around it, and she's good to go. The good doctor left to grab the paperwork.”

  “Anything suspicious yet?”

  Solomon shook his head. “Besides you? No.”

  Both men chuckled at that. It was true, Phil was a little bit suspicious, no matter how hard he tried to blend in.

  “Phil!”

  Phil jolted upright, the brief moment of levity forgotten in the face of Lumina’s shout. Her tone was different than before, less filled with cautious alarm and more filled with, well, ‘alarm’ alarm. His suspicions were quickly confirmed once a few more shouted words joined the first.

  “Police! Looks normal, but he’s moving fast!”

  “The fuzz are here. Gotta go.” Phil muttered, hastily closing the door and rushing over to his position near the ashtray. He threw his previous cigarette into the tray and shook out another one, wrinkling his nose at the smell of smoke gathering around his body. Phil moved to straighten his coat, but soon abandoned the attempt once he realized the more disheveled it looked, the more he'd fit in with his surroundings.

  Phil took a deep drag from the cigarette, hiding another cough as he did. He wasn’t used to it, nor did he ever think he would be. Boots struck the floor out of sight, and the police officer rounded the corner at a run.

  Phil’s eyes widened. The officer looked ordinary at first, but then his gaze took in the unholstered handgun in the officer’s grip and the determined glare that was locked dead on with Phil. But the man did not look dead to Phil. His chest heaved with the exertion of his sprint. His hands shook as they pointed the gun at Phil’s chest. His eyes burned with life, and his mouth moved in perfect synch with his words.

  He wasn’t one of the Sons of Kul Elna. Not that Phil could tell, at least.

  “POLICE! PUT YOUR HANDS IN THE AIR NOW!” The officer bellowed out. Phil blinked in surprise and gestured with one finger toward himself in the universal gesture for ‘who, me?’

  “YOU! ON THE GROUND WITH YOUR HANDS OVER YOUR HEAD! NOW!”

  Phil mentally grunted to himself and did the only thing he could think of. Spinning around, he yanked open the door to the exam room, sprinted inside, slammed the door shut, and, to the 'O' of surprise plastered on Rebecca's face, flung open the window.

  “Cheerio! The policeman looks fine, but man, he's pissed. Solomon, I'm counting on you. Make a ruckus if shit goes sideways. I'll try to stay in earshot. Remember. You don’t know me. I’m some crazy bastard that burst in while you were getting your kid looked at.”

  “Phil what are you-“ Was all Solomon could get out before Phil hopped over the windowsill and flung himself off the second floor of the hospital. Lumina followed seconds later, whooping with joy as she curled herself into a cannonball the moment her shoes left the windowsill.

  https://discord.gg/jfRn8j5GaE!